


Like Cigarette Smoke, She Came And She Went

by ofCloudlessClimesandStarrySkies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Possession, Canon divergence-Season 5, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, Meg has feelings, Multi, possible future smut, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:26:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofCloudlessClimesandStarrySkies/pseuds/ofCloudlessClimesandStarrySkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer has claimed his true vessel, and surprisingly, taken a familiar demoness as his consort. Meg should be honoured, and she is. One small problem, some pesky feelings for Sam Winchester are getting harder to ignore, and any betrayal could cost her her hide. What's a girl to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! So this is to be my first chaptered story, a prompt from a lovely friend of mine that intrigued me. They asked simply for Samifer/Meg. Well, I answered. Title taken from the Civil Wars 'I had me a girl'. Enjoy!

"Come on, Meg. Behave." A man's calm, low voice , chided with just a hint of humour. A girl, all dark tresses and flashing eyes, turned to laugh.  
"You're such an old geezer, Lucifer. Live a little." Meg teased, spinning on her heels in the oil slicked alley. "I'd mind your tongue, you devil. Especially since you killed all those people. Naughty, naughty." He purred, smirking.  
"Make me." She breathed, testing him, taunting. The adrenaline of the homicidal outburst clung to her skin.  
The petite demon leant against the cold concrete of the wall, tight leather and denim aiding in serving up her body. Offerings to a man who in her childhood had been but a story. Lucifer moved towards her, long legs in fluid tandem.  
The size difference was made that much clearer as he shadowed her.  
Large, callused hands coming to grip her waist. "Careful what you wish for." He chuckled, hazel eyes boring in to Meg's. The demon barely managed to conceal a shudder.  
His eyes were...wrong. They were Sam's, sure. But where the Boy King's had been full of love and sadness, a gentle gateway to his thoughts, Lucifer wore them coldly. With little expression aside from a terrifying calm or an arrogance no one dared question. Not even her.  
And she was special. As exalted as a demon could be by a fallen angel who despised his own twisted creations. It was odd too, to see a boy she'd watched, a vessel she'd tested the fit of herself, worn by the morning star. Meg could still remember the madness with which Sam had fought her. The thought of how deafeningly loud he must be screaming inside his own head now made her stomach turn.  
His crisp laughter, which made Meg think of a bureaucrat's starched white shirt, broke her out of the unusual reverie as his hands subtly roamed her torso. She cocked one pointed eyebrow in question. "What?" She chuckled softly.  
"You seemed studious. I didn't expect that from you, sweet." Lucifer purred, before Sam Winchester's lips crashed in to her own with a calculated precision. Her shoulder blades dug in to the wall. And the swelling tide of odd guilt quelled. The Archangel's light invaded her damned flesh. Blessing or curse, Meg wasn't so sure.


	2. Learn how to make coffee, Marge.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diner altercations with Dean Winchester.

The time was roughly 8:00 PM. Meg sat in a greasy looking diner, her coffee black and almost too thick in the chipped ceramic mug. Currently lighting up a menthol that none of her fellow loiterers seemed to mind her smoking inside. The world was going to shit, so what the hell, right? The odd occurrences sending humans in to a panic had started when Lucifer first busted the cage, and then when he'd found a temporary vessel in that impossibly sad widower. The father who never got to be. But now, as he became one in the same with Sam Winchester's beautifully battered flesh, here came natural disasters, homicides climbing, people seeing visions. The chaos was fucking glorious. She basked like a cat in the summer sun. A waitress by the red stitched name of 'Marge' brushed by her little window table. "Refill, young lady?" She asked curtly. Meg smirked. Young. Ha. "Oh yes ma'am, I have a long drive ahead." She replied, sickly sweet. Glistening ivory teeth peeking out from crimson painted lips. Predatory.   
She could garrotte this grandma with her own necklace. Easily. But she had bigger fish to gut today. Meg was expecting a visitor. Whether said individual was aware of it or not.   
Her Archangel trusted her to be a face, a voice for him. Sharing a bed could sway things, as many other demons so loved to point out. But she was confident in her own skills. And she knew for this particular case, those were valued. A smirk played slyly across her lips as the bell chimed cheerfully in the door jam, and a man's familiar frame became visible. He was tense, bitter, distressed. More than usual. And she knew why. As he approached and almost walked past her, she spoke up. "Oh please Deano, do sit down. We can split some late night pancakes. Drink whiskey and swap lies."  
He first looked vaguely confused, until his features contorted in to pure disgust. "Bitch."   
"Now now, young man. Is that any way to speak to a lady?" An elderly man seated across the room chided, with a gently look of empathy directed at the demon. She didn't need it, of course. But she did need Dean to stay, and this would do nicely. "Oh it's fine, y'know, I'm used to it..." She murmured pitifully, looking down. Like some naive girl trapped with a monster.  
And then the other customers were watching. Sure that the Winchester was her callous lover. His lips were in a tight line of defeat as he sat down across from her.   
"So, how're things, huh? Must be nice getting your own room." She quipped quietly, grinning. His hackles raised, almost. Obviously angry. "Hilarious Meg. What do you want?" He growled, glancing around to see if people were still spectating.  
"Oh, can't I want to chat with my favourite little Michael's sword without motive?"  
"No. With our track record, sweetheart, you can't." Dean spat simply, scoffing as he turned his head to the side.  
"Fine. I do have reasons, if you must know. But you don't need the specifics." She fired back.  
"Says which asshole?" He barked.  
"Well technically, your brother." Meg smiled victoriously as that reply silenced him. She loved seeing him burn and smoke up under her hot iron remarks. Seeing John Winchester's little stone soldier crack was satisfying.   
"I will end you, right now bitch. Nothing's stopping me." He brandished Ruby's knife under the linoleum table. Meg only laughed in his face, as if he'd told a good joke. "Uh huh, sure you will hotshot. Listen, I have a message for you. Say yes. Luci misses his brother a whole big bunch. Don't be selfish now."   
Dean's eyes widened, then narrowed in scrutiny. "You're his messenger? You? That's a joke."  
"Well, it's a punch line with perks, sugar. I'm living the high life." She purred, twirling a stir stick between her fingers. The Winchester looked like he'd be sick as he began to understand the connotation of what that special new role meant.  
"Well you tell that miserable prick, that I'm not playing his family's game." He growled, standing up ramrod straight. Meg had to admit, Dean was a beautiful man, rugged and built to be a warrior. She appraised his features with borrowed brown eyes as he stormed out. The diner went silent.


End file.
